The Christmas Holiday: The perfect heart-warming read full of festive magic

by Sophie Claire

  And yet last night when he’d held Evie and looked at her with those kingfisher-blue eyes, there had been intensity in them. All grief and pain had been completely erased, and in that moment it had been tempting to believe he felt something for her.

  But he didn’t. And she didn’t, either. She was just a little dazed and dazzled by the sex. That was all.

  She’d suggested this fling, and she would keep to the terms they’d agreed: no emotional involvement, no complications. She would enjoy this time with Jake, but make sure her heart remained carefully tucked away and safe.

  The cockerel crowed again, and this time Jake stirred, squinting against the morning light that streamed in through the window.

  Confused, he looked around the unfamiliar room and Evie tensed, watching his reaction as the fog of sleep slowly lifted and he remembered where he was and what had happened. His gaze settled on her and she saw the moment when realisation dawned. His lips curved in a slow, lazy smile.

  ‘Morning,’ he said, in that deep voice of his, and reached for her.

  ‘Bonjour,’ she whispered, as she dipped her head.

  She kissed him long and hard, and their bodies sought one another once again and became entwined. As he rolled her onto her back Evie closed her eyes, smiling with pleasure but also with relief that there were no regrets and last night hadn’t been a dream.

  By the time they were up and dressed, it was almost noon. Christine advised that their car was ready and arranged for a taxi to drive them to the garage.

  The workshop was quiet, presumably because it was the holidays. Spotting the red convertible, Jake strode across the deserted garage in search of a member of staff and Evie followed.

  ‘The floor’s just been mopped,’ muttered Jake, ‘so there must be someone around.’

  Evie slipped and landed hard on her bum. She gasped, then winced. Oh, great. She’d arrived here walking on air after a night of the best sex a girl had ever known, and now she found herself on the floor with a very sore bruise. As she rubbed the base of her back, she steeled herself for Jake’s reaction. Tim would have rolled his eyes and marched away.

  Jake turned and rushed back, his features narrowed with concern. ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, trying to be brave. In truth, it did hurt.

  ‘Can you get up? Here, let me help you.’

  ‘I’m okay,’ she said, but it was nice to feel his arm around her waist, supporting her.

  A door opened and a man in overalls appeared. He was wiping his hands on an oil-stained rag when he saw what had happened and hurried over.

  She opened her mouth to make a joke about how clumsy she was, but before she had a chance Jake told him, ‘You should have put a sign up to say the floor was wet!’

  The mechanic apologised profusely, and Evie’s mouth snapped shut.

  She wasn’t used to having someone stand up for her. She could happily get used to it.

  ‘So, what do you want to do now?’ asked Jake, as they drove away. ‘Go home? Or do some sightseeing?’

  Her hair streamed behind her and shards of sunlight flashed off the car’s metal trimmings as they sped along the deserted country roads. Truth be told, she was tired and sleep-deprived, but she didn’t want to miss out on a day of their holiday when they had only a few left.

  ‘Why don’t we go back to the villa,’ she said, ‘and get a change of clothes? Then maybe we could go for a drive? Explore the countryside.’

  ‘Yesterday’s experience hasn’t put you off using the car?’

  ‘Not at all. Like you said, it was a blessing in disguise.’ Evie closed her eyes, savouring the rush of wind on her face and the gentle heat of the winter sun. A night of passionate sex in a beautiful hotel – it couldn’t have turned out better, really.

  ‘I’m glad you feel that way,’ he said, under his breath. ‘Maria would never have set foot in a classic car, especially one that had broken down.’

  Evie’s eyes snapped open. He was thinking about Maria? Of course he was. She would never be far from his thoughts. She tried to force down the emotions that rose up inside her.

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ she said, relieved at how casual she sounded. ‘What about the Bentley?’

  He kept his eyes on the road, concentrating as he slowed for a bend. ‘She refused to go near it.’

  Instinct told her it would be wise to drop this subject. Talking about Maria only made her feel jealous, small and inferior. She was willing to bet that Maria had never slipped and landed with her feet in the air and her knickers on show to the world. But now he’d revealed this tiny morsel of information about his wife, Evie couldn’t help herself. She was desperate to know more.

  ‘Why didn’t she like old cars?’ she asked.

  ‘She liked life’s luxuries. Air-conditioning and heating in a car were basic essentials, she said, and she didn’t want to feel every bump in the road.’

  Evie didn’t know what to say. Her high spirits suddenly dissipated, leaving her deflated. Although last night had been a revelation for her, earth-shattering, clearly the same couldn’t be said for Jake. His thoughts were still with the woman he loved. It was a reminder that what she and Jake shared was only superficial. Just fun.

  And she was fine with that. She really was.

  The light beside his bed cast intricate shadows across the ceiling. Jake gazed up at them, savouring the warmth of Evie’s body tucked against his chest, and the faint rhythm of her heart beating in time to his. Absently he ran his fingers through her hair. His phone buzzed and lit up with a message. Jake reached to take a look, then put it back.

  Evie’s eyelashes brushed against his chest. ‘What is it?’ she asked sleepily.

  They’d had a lazy, laid-back afternoon wandering through a medieval walled village, soaking up the atmosphere and historic beauty of the centuries-old houses, then sitting in a café and watching the world go by. Watching each other, feeling the rocket of heat as their eyes met and held. It had simmered beneath the surface all day, the electric charge that last night had finally been released and allowed to flourish.

  Then they’d driven home to the villa. He smiled wryly. Tonight was the first evening Evie hadn’t done any sewing. Instead, they’d gone to bed early. To his bed.

  The sound of a night bird calling pierced the stillness and Evie shifted, the velvet of her thigh rubbing against his, making his body stir again, causing his muscles to tighten. He kissed the top of her head, inhaling her apple scent. It was a relief to have this thing out in the open. To be able to kiss her when he felt the urge, to draw her against him and let lust lead them down its alluring path.

  ‘Just Louisa.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you reply?’

  ‘I will in the morning.’ It was eleven o’clock. His sister wouldn’t expect an immediate answer.

  ‘Nothing important, then?’

  ‘No. She’s checking on me. Mothering me, as usual,’ he said fondly.

  ‘She cares about you.’

  ‘I know. She’s been doing it since I was three. I’m used to it now.’

  ‘Since you were three?’

  He nodded. Louisa had always been more than just a big sister to him. ‘When my mother died.’

  Evie sat up and rested her head on her hand to look at him. ‘That must have been hard for you.’

  For some reason her sympathy made him want to pull back. ‘Not really. I don’t remember her. She died shortly after Scarlett was born. There were complications …’

  ‘It must have been hard for your father, then, being left to raise three children alone.’

  ‘He hired nannies. And our housekeeper was around to help, too. He left it to them, really.’ His father had never seemed like a man who was struggling. He’d always worked long hours, and when he was at home, he’d been a remote figure, preoccupied, never getting involved in the children’s daily routine.

  ‘He didn’t remarry?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I wonder why.�
��

  He’d never asked, and his father had never told him. ‘We never talked about it. Or about anything … emotional. We didn’t have that kind of relationship.’

  Evie traced circles on his chest with the tips of her fingers while she absorbed this. ‘You don’t have any regrets about missing Christmas with your sisters?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘It will get easier.’ She lay back and twisted her head to look at him. Her dimples appeared. ‘I used to adore Christmas before Zara died. I had a CD of Christmas songs and I used to play it from September until February – or until everyone else lost patience and they hid it from me.’

  ‘I can imagine that would be mildly irritating.’ But he smiled indulgently at the thought, because it wasn’t difficult to imagine. She was so overly enthusiastic about the things she loved. About life. He pictured her, head thrown back with delight and hands in the air as snow had fallen all around them. And in his car, beaming as the wind rushed at her face. Maria would never have enjoyed those things. He had forgotten how stubborn she used to be.

  ‘I used to cut out paper snowflakes and hang them around my bed, and I would make personalised cards for all my friends and family …’ She sighed wistfully. ‘I miss Zara.’

  Hearing her voice so ragged with sadness made his chest tighten. He kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling while she continued.

  ‘Sometimes I miss her so much it feels … physical. A bone-deep pain, you know? I think of her every time I hear a song we used to dance to, or smell her perfume, and I feel …’ she faltered, then wrapped her hand in a fist and touched her heart ‘… I feel it here.’

  He swallowed.

  ‘We were different in so many ways, yet she understood me better than anyone.’ He heard her take a breath before she added quietly, ‘Sometimes I think it would have been easier for my parents if I’d been the one who died, rather than her.’

  His eyes narrowed and he turned onto his side to face her. ‘I don’t believe that for a second,’ he said sharply.

  ‘I see it in their eyes.’

  Perhaps that was how her parents made her feel. He’d seen what they were like. But no parent should make their child feel so. Especially not their only surviving child.

  ‘Why don’t you stand up to them?’ he asked, his voice gruff with anger.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That time when I saw them in your shop, your father was completely out of order. You should tell him to cut the criticism or sling his hook.’

  She looked horrified. The streaks in her hair glinted in the gold light as she shook her head. ‘I can’t say that!’

  ‘Why not?’ She was too good, too kind for this world. He wanted to protect her from those who would take advantage of her openness and were so quick to destroy her self-confidence.

  ‘Because they – they’re still grieving.’ He glimpsed her pained expression before she dipped her gaze. ‘They’ve never got over Zara’s death. You know how hard it is. They can’t accept that she’s gone.’ She hesitated, then admitted, ‘They took all her belongings from her flat and turned her old bedroom at home into a shrine. The wardrobe is full of her clothes and shoes. They won’t throw anything away. It’s been more than five years now, but they can’t let go.’

  She glanced at him as if this was her guilty secret, and it was indeed extreme. But it didn’t justify their behaviour towards her. Her parents had had years to come to terms with their grief. It was no excuse for belittling Evie.

  Then again, he knew better than anyone that the passage of time didn’t necessarily lessen the grief. It’s been two years now. Don’t you think it’s time you moved on? His sister’s words rang in his head. Was he guilty of the same thing as Evie’s parents? Allowing his grief to hurt those who were closest to him? He thought of Louisa’s pleas for him to spend Christmas with his family. He’d avoided doing so, but he’d hurt them in the process. His skin prickled uncomfortably.

  Perhaps, once he returned to England, he should visit both his sisters. Perhaps it was time he made more effort and stopped shutting them out of his life. His nephews and nieces were growing up fast, and he didn’t want to miss out on their childhood completely.

  ‘Why do you care so much about what my parents do?’ Evie asked, running her hand over his stubbled chin.

  He caught it and kissed it. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You get so angry, telling me I should stand up to them. Why does it matter to you?’

  A long pause followed. He didn’t know how to answer. He was completely thrown by the question. Why did it matter? ‘Because you’re a friend,’ he managed eventually. ‘A good friend. And I don’t like to see anyone trampled on by others.’

  ‘You care about the underdog, don’t you, Jake?’ she observed quietly.

  ‘The underdog?’ Was that how she saw herself? As someone he’d taken under his wing, the way he’d done with Smoke as a puppy? A hot rush of indignation flowed through him, and he battled to contain it as he looked down at the beautiful woman beside him, her hair spilling over her pillow, her eyes smoky in the low light of the bedroom. ‘No,’ he corrected her brusquely. ‘I care about you, Evie Miller.’

  Her eyes widened, then shone like stars. He saw them light with hope and immediately regretted his choice of words. No strings, they’d said. No complications. His pulse hammered in his ears with sudden panic. He cared, but his heart still belonged to Maria. It was mothballed and safely tucked away, out of reach, and that was exactly where it would stay.

  Evie was fun, she was talented, she lit up the room with her sunny smile. But she wasn’t Maria.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Evie, put the knife down.’ His heart was in his mouth as the blade glinted in the kitchen light. ‘Please. Put it down.’

  Evie whirled round. Spotting him in the doorway, she stopped, and blushed. Abba’s “Dancing Queen” continued to blast out at full volume, and something delicious-smelling was baking in the oven.

  Jake stepped forward. He took the knife out of her hand and laid it down on the worktop beside the tomatoes and cucumber she’d been slicing for a salad before she’d been distracted by the music. Now the element of danger had been removed he could smile. ‘Caught you,’ he said.

  ‘I was only dancing!’

  ‘Knowing how clumsy you are, dancing with a knife in your hand is not a good idea.’

  She laughed and resumed the whirling and jiggling she’d been doing when he came in. ‘Come on, admit it,’ she said, ‘this song makes you want to dance too.’

  ‘I don’t dance.’

  ‘You did at the ball. I saw you.’

  ‘Only to please Dorothy. That was exceptional.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ She spun on the spot, smiling, her head tipped back, her arms in the air.

  He couldn’t help but smile. Her joy was infectious. The beat of the music made his pulse pick up. She swivelled her hips and his gaze lingered just a little too long on her shapely figure and the indent of her waist. He tried to clear his mind, but lust tore through him, like adrenalin.

  If you can’t beat them, join them, he told himself. He seized her hand and waltzed her round in a circle, but the kitchen table and chairs got in the way so he waltzed her out onto the terrace. She tipped her head back, laughing, and the stars were reflected in her eyes as they spun faster. And Jake found himself singing the words with her, not just to that song but the next one too. They laughed and danced, and energy surged through his body, fed by her uninhibited delight and his answering joy. When the song finished and a slower one started, they were both breathless and flushed. Spots of colour splashed her cheeks, almost as scarlet as his new sweater. He grinned and pulled her to him for the slow dance, not wanting the moment to end or the spell to be broken.

  ‘You see? You do dance,’ she said, then let her head rest against his chest.

  ‘Shush. Don’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Why not? It was fun. Or is that the problem? Mr Arctic can’t be s
een to have fun?’

  He smiled, loving how she teased him. ‘It was fun,’ he agreed. ‘You, Pollyanna, are fun.’

  He felt happy, he realised, for the first time in months – years. His heart thudded as if in confirmation.

  ‘Ha! You wouldn’t say that if I’d trodden on your foot. And, believe me, it happens a lot when I’m dancing.’

  ‘I believe you.’ He grinned.

  When had they stopped dancing? When had their gazes locked so all he could see were her long lashes and gleaming eyes looking up at him? Hungrily. Seductively.

  ‘Yet you’re still here?’ She gave a soft laugh. ‘You’re brave.’

  She felt warm in the cool night air. ‘Not brave. Privileged. Thank you,’ he said, his voice low. ‘Thank you, Evie, for making me feel so alive. I’d forgotten what it was like.’

  He was sleeping more soundly than he had done in months. He was looking forward to each new day, waking up beside her. Previously, he had lived a grey existence, but she had quite literally brought colour into his life.

  ‘Oh, Jake …’ Her voice broke, but it didn’t matter because he dipped his head and stole the words from her lips with a lingering kiss, loaded with the need to avoid confronting his emotions or thoughts, and just feel.

  Because being with Evie felt so right, so good. And he wasn’t ready to think about anything beyond that.

  When they’d eaten – a little later than planned, since they’d been side-tracked in the kitchen – they settled themselves in the lounge for a quiet evening in front of the fire.

  ‘I wonder what Smoke is doing,’ said Evie.

  ‘You don’t need to worry about him. He loves staying at Heidi’s. She spoils him rotten.’

  Jake watched her, head bent as she sewed. Her long plait had fallen forwards over her left shoulder. As usual it was untidy, and strands had come loose. He remembered how neatly tied back she had worn her hair for the ball. It had looked sleek and elegant, it had looked beautiful – but she hadn’t looked like Evie.